Only Strange People Go to Church

by Laura Marney

  ‘No, of course not.’

  Dezzie doesn’t ask her twice. He returns immediately to George for another huddled conversation. After some convincing he helps George into the front passenger seat, pushing the seat back and carefully folding the old man’s thin legs into the tiny space. He crosses to the driver’s side and signals for Maria to get in behind. Dezzie has jumped in and closed his door before Maria can push herself into the confined space of the back seat. She squashes in, her legs wetting her chest, and feels the damp spread out across her back.

  It’s warm and dry in here at least. Being inside the car is better than being outside, except that there’s a bad smell. It’s one that Maria is well acquainted with: the sharp fizzy smell of fresh urine. Less familiar but nonetheless unmistakeable, there is also a top note of stale wine. When Dezzie starts the engine and turns on the de-mister, the rank potpourri of urine and alcohol intensifies to noxious levels. The windows quickly mist and the air in the small car is fuggy with it. She would open a window, lashing rain is preferably to this, but it’s not her car. It’s not even Dezzie’s. Maria wonders what Dezzie’s sister will have to say about her little car being doused in wino piss.

  As he drives, Dezzie keeps up a cheery one-sided conversation with George. Maria would like to take part but leaning forward fills her nostrils with George’s stench and she fears she may chuck up her veal dinner. Then the baby cow really will have died in vain and Dezzie’s sister will have the smell of vomit to contend with as well.

  She notices that they are travelling in the opposite direction, away from where she lives. They ride for about fifteen minutes, by which time Maria has stopped noticing the smell and is now worrying that it has permeated her good blue dress. Finally Dezzie slows the car.

  ‘Okay George, Wilson Street. Where do you want me to drop you?’ George continues staring ahead.

  ‘I’m saying we’re here, George,’ Dezzie says, this time much louder. ‘Where d’you want dropped?’

  With great effort, George shakes himself to attention. He points towards a block of flats they have just cruised past.

  ‘No problem, mate. I’ll turn and go back.’

  It is a good five minutes before the traffic allows Dezzie to turn the car.

  They pull up outside a dilapidated block of flats on the main road next door to a late night Spar shop.

  ‘Here?’

  George nods.

  ‘Here,’ says Dezzie again, this time with relief in his voice.

  But George has returned to his catatonic state.

  ‘Hang on a second, George,’ says Dezzie, although it’s obvious that George isn’t trying to get out. From the back seat Maria can’t see what’s causing the delay. She feels the weight of the car shift slightly as Dezzie lifts a bum cheek and checks his back pocket. It shifts again as he tries the other one.

  ‘Actually Maria,’ he says, ‘you couldn’t lend us a couple of quid, could you?’

  Embarrassed by her slowness of understanding, she rushes at her bag. She frantically scrambles for her purse and pulls out a ten pound note. There then follows a fast cash transfer where Maria, somewhat rashly, she later considers, hands the money to Dezzie who immediately hands it on to George.

  Almost resignedly, George discreetly palms it with the dignity and practised ease of a regular recipient of kind deeds and small change. It’s only then that he fumbles for the door handle. He weakly claws at the door while Dezzie springs from his seat to help him. When he gets him upright the old fellow is a little unsteady on his feet. He begins to totter off in the wrong direction until Dezzie corrects his trajectory back on to the path towards the flats.

  ‘Now, mind what I said George, a nice hot bath and you’ll be right as rain tomorrow,’ Dezzie calls as he climbs back in.

  To Maria’s relief, he doesn’t ask if she wants to change and sit in the front. There is probably a residual pool of piss on the seat and her dress is ruined as it is.

  The road is quieter now so Dezzie begins to negotiate a three point turn.

  ‘How do you know George then, Dezzie?’ she asks innocently.

  Perhaps he’s a friend; she hopes he’s not a relative.

  ‘I don’t,’ Dezzie says, laughing, ‘I’ve just met him.’

  Maria chastises herself, humbled by his compassion for a poor old soul. She doesn’t deserve a man as good as Dezzie. Thank God he’s not party to her snooty internal monologue. He thinks she’s a nice person.

  As Dezzie turns the car Maria sees George taking another wrong turning.

  ‘Dezzie, Look! He’s not going into the flats.’

  The old man has wandered back towards the Spar shop. Dezzie stops the car and they watch George, with surprising energy, pull open the door. The shop door bangs closed below a neon sign advertising Tennant’s lager that flickers intermittently in the rain.

  Dezzie is open-mouthed. He lifts both hands from the steering wheel and leaves them in the air.

  ‘Ack,’ he says.

  His hands come back down on to the wheel and then he lifts and bangs them down hard.

  ‘He promised me he’d go straight home.’

  Maria looks down.

  ‘D’you think maybe George is an alcoholic?’ Maria offers.

  ‘Yeah, obviously he is, but he promised me he’d go straight home.’

  They sit in silence for a few moments while Dezzie leans back and lets a breath escape slowly from closed lips. He doesn’t start the car. Maria’s keen to get moving; she wants to be gone from this street before George emerges with a bottle of cheap wine and a couple of cans paid for with her tenner.

  ‘Ack,’ he says again, this time more philosophically. ‘What are you gonna do?’

  Dezzie catches Maria’s eye in the rear-view mirror and gives her a sheepish smile. She eagerly returns it. She doesn’t want George to completely ruin their evening. Then she reaches forward and squeezes his hand.

  ‘Let’s go home.’

  Dezzie looks back at the shop but George still hasn’t come out.

  ‘Yeah,’ he says as he returns her squeeze and starts the engine.

  Chapter 31

  At Maria’s front door there is confused hesitation. It looks like Dezzie isn’t going to kiss her. She’s given him every opportunity. After thanking him for a lovely night she leaned towards him and looked into his eyes. He doesn’t say he’s had a lovely night or we must do this again sometime or do you have plans for next week end, all the things she had creatively visualised him doing. He just stands there. Not smiling, but not frowning either. She’s done everything but close her eyes and pucker up. Why did he walk her to her door if he isn’t going to kiss her? So, with a sigh, she turns to put her key in the lock.

  Dezzie takes a step towards her. She can feel his breath on her neck. He gently touches her arm and this is all the encouragement she needs. She turns swiftly and clamps her mouth to his. For one horrible millisecond it occurs to her, what if he wasn’t about to kiss her? What if he only wanted to say cheerio; mind how you go. But he responds; he’s a good kisser. Maria feels an immediate moistening.

  Sometimes, alone, under the duvet, she likens her excitable body to a fruit. She used to think of herself as a peach, to imagine a man pushing at her, opening her like a ripe peach. Sometimes, when she’s had an ugly day, when a character on TV has made some cruel remark about a female character being unattractive, she can only think of herself as a pear. A pear that, left for very much longer, will turn to a dry grainy mush. She throws her arms around Dezzie’s neck and kisses him hard.

  Dezzie puts his hands on either side of her waist, elbows bent, holding her as though he’s about to hoist her up in a romantic ballet move. They hold this position for several minutes until Maria breaks, looks into his face, smiles, and then hugs him tight. Dezzie returns the hug, tenderly rubbing his arms across her back. They are cheek to cheek and Maria kisses him, closer and closer to his mouth until they are snogging again. This time Dezzie’s hand slides down and ac
ross Maria’s bum. Instinctively she pushes in towards him.

  She has decided, after a long consultation with Arlene and Nelson earlier, that she will not be sleeping with Dezzie tonight. Despite Arlene now being officially dead, she is no less lively in Maria’s mind.

  ‘Whoa! You’re getting a bit ahead of yourself, Missie,’ said Arlene. ‘Who says he’ll want to move things on to a physical level?’

  But she was teasing.

  ‘Who am I kidding; he’s a guy, isn’t he?’ she laughed.

  Although Arlene and Nelson enjoyed a bit of sport at Maria’s expense, their advice was unequivocal.

  ‘Always leave them gasping for more,’ said Arlene, ‘it’ll raise your stock.’

  Arlene and Nelson often gave conflicting points of view, that was why she liked them, to get both sides of every story, but for once Nelson concurred.

  ‘Relationships between men and women should be about mutual respect. People should not be in such a hurry to drop their drawers,’ he said.

  Arlene had laughed.

  ‘That’s rich coming from you, you old goat!’

  Nelson laughed too. They were both having a great time tormenting her. Meditation was supposed to be relaxing.

  ‘But he’s right, Maria. Men don’t want a wife who’s a slut.’

  ‘Hen,’ said Nelson gently, ‘you keep your hand on your half-penny.’

  Maria fully intends to do so. It would be unseemly for her to jump straight into bed with Dezzie, he’s a colleague and more importantly, the man she hopes to marry. She doesn’t want their first date to be marred by memories of how she behaved like a slapper.

  Still and all, the kissing is so delicious that she can’t bear that it should end just yet. But, if she was to invite him in, would he understand that it didn’t mean sex? Surely he knows her well enough by now to know that she’s not like that. She tilts her pelvis up, getting closer to his and he answers by fondling her buttocks. Dezzie’s a gentleman, she’s sure of it.

  ‘Do you want to come up for…’

  Kissing has caused all the blood to run to her groin, she has forgotten the word. What’s the word she’s looking for? And then she remembers.

  ‘For a coffee?’

  She has taken too long to find the word and now they’re both embarrassed. Dezzie probably thinks she means it as code.

  ‘Just a quick one.’

  Dezzie looks alarmed.

  ‘I mean a quick coffee!’

  He looks away.

  ‘I better get back,’ he mumbles. ‘I’ll need to give the car a bit of a sluice out, get rid of the smell.’

  This is the first time either of them has mentioned George’s rich aroma.

  ‘Jan’ll go mad, she’ll never lend me it again.’

  Maria struggles to disguise her bafflement. He was squeezing her buttcheeks a second ago.

  ‘Yeah, the car, of course.’

  ‘But next time, eh?’

  So there’s going to be a next time. She breathes a sigh of relief.

  ‘Okay,’ she says softly, ‘that’ll be nice. I’ll look forward to it.’

  Maria closes the door and listens for his footsteps walking briskly down the hall. What was all that about? Does he not fancy her? He said there was going to be a next time so presumably he does. Maybe he, like her, felt it was too soon. Maybe he’s thinking about the long term too. He’s a sensitive guy, and probably not one to let his prick dictate. They have so much in common. As she’s brushing her teeth she makes another decision. She won’t do anything about the moistening. Out of respect for Dezzie, her hand won’t stray to her halfpenny tonight.

  As she’s pulling her nightie on over her head, a loud insistent banging starts at her door.

  Chapter 32

  Maria puts the chain on and opens the door the six inches the chain allows. It’s Dezzie. She quickly closes the door again, takes the chain off and opens the door properly. He rushes into her arms and kisses her passionately there in the doorway. It’s a matter of half a minute before they’re on the bed and he’s pulling her nightie over her head. In the hurried fumblings she hasn’t had a chance to unbutton it and gets snagged, her head bagged inside, breathless, until she can undo it.

  Despite this initial clumsiness, Dezzie is a great lover. Much better than Dirk ever was. He has her naked and is kissing all over her body with light butterfly kisses that drive her crazy.

  He touches her breasts, her back arching with the delicious coolness of his fingers. He lightly strokes the sides, the slopes, the undersides of her breasts; teasingly avoiding her nipples, though she writhes and sighs.

  She opens her eyes to find his mouth and kiss him but as soon as she does, she becomes embarrassed. Dezzie is staring at her breasts. Then, faint as a breath, he kisses her nipple.

  ‘You’re beautiful, Maria.’

  These are magic words. They transport Maria to a place where there are no pimples or bad smells or squelchy noises, a place where there exists only pleasure.

  Maria wants to touch Dezzie, to let him feel something of the ecstasy she feels, but every time she puts a hand on him he gently removes it. He’s concentrating only on her satisfaction.

  ‘What do you want me to do? What do you like?’ he whispers.

  And he continues to whisper until Maria, shyly, tells him.

  ‘There, down there,’ she murmurs.

  This seems to excite him and he moans with pleasure as he explores her.

  Dezzie’s so different from other men she’s slept with, never mind the proper boyfriends she’s had. He’s a hundred times better than her Dirk. Dirk was too controlling. He hated it if she tried to tell him what to do. Once, when she asked him to touch her a little more gently he shouted, ‘Don’t tell me how to touch a woman’s tits, I know what I’m doing!’

  This was embarrassing enough, but there were other people in the train carriage and they must have heard him.

  Maria has reached the point where she has to have Dezzie inside her or else she’ll explode. She pulls at his trouser pockets, feeling his slim hips underneath. For the first time it strikes her that he’s still fully clothed.

  ‘Take your clothes off,’ she says, pulling at his belt.

  He resists at first.

  ‘Please,’ she begs.

  Dezzie has nothing to be shy about. His penis is beautiful, not as big as Dirk’s but much nicer looking. The skin of his foreskin is pale and creamy, like the skin of a baby.

  ‘Please Dezzie, please put it in me.’

  He lies on top of her and puts his penis inside her. His fingers are splayed on the sheet, his elbows locked as he supports his weight, something Dirk never did. He rocks to and fro, in and out. His breath is fast and shallow. She wraps her arms and legs around him and feels his body clench. Waves of euphoria wash over her.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she says.

  She keeps on saying it, ‘oh my God, oh my God,’ she says over and over again until the waves recede. And then she cries.

  Dezzie holds her tight, wiping and kissing her tears.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he whispers.

  ‘Yeah,’ she gulps, ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Was it okay?’

  ‘It was fantastic, Dezzie. Was it good for you?’

  Dezzie smiles.

  ‘Fantastic.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you Dezzie, that was amazing.’

  Maria is beginning to nod off, she has been faintly aware of him moving on the bed but now she realises that he’s putting his clothes on.

  ‘Dezzie?’

  The significance of this hits her. He’s not staying the night, he’s not going to fall asleep cuddling into her and wake up beside her tomorrow. He got what he wanted and now he’s leaving. He probably feels dirty: he’s made a mistake, had a one night stand with a workmate and can’t bear to face her. Dezzie leans over and kisses Maria, an automatic, see you later, kiss.

  ‘Aren’t you going to stay?’

  ‘I have to get Jan’s car sorted out
.’

  ‘You don’t have to go now,’ she says, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. ‘We could clean it in the morning. We can get up early and give it a good scrub; I can set the alarm an hour earlier, two hours if…’

  ‘I’ve got to go Maria, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Bye bye.’

  Maria sees him to the door and then pulls her nightie back on. She’s too relaxed and sleepy to let the grief begin now. Plenty of time for grief and humiliation tomorrow.

  Three hours later she’s opening the door again. She hasn’t put the chain on this time.

  ‘I got it valeted. All night carwash in Westwood,’ Dezzie explains, ‘cost a bloody fortune.’

  Maria takes his hand and leads him back to bed. He’s more careful with her nightie this time.

  Chapter 33

  Ray has finished the sideboard. It’s taken three times longer to make than it should have but it’s a job well done and gives him pleasure. Working at this rate he’s unlikely to make any real money, he’ll hardly turn a profit but it’ll be enough. The buyer was pretty pleased with it and has commissioned two more, that’ll keep him going for the foreseeable. Ray doesn’t think beyond that. He’s bought the wood and will make a start on the next sideboard once they get the snooker table in. He decides to play his guitar while he waits for it to arrive.

  Inspired by the orchestra’s performance at the rehearsal, Ray has dug out his guitar and dusted it down. He runs through his repertoire of old tunes while the metal strings bite his soft fingertips. He thought he’d never lift this guitar again. A few months ago he poured his soul into these familiar melodies, playing until his fingers cracked and bled. Now he just plays, without hope or despair, he just plays.

  Alice from the OAP centre offered him the snooker table. It seemed strange, when she mentioned it the first time, that an old lady should be interested in snooker but she must have been thinking of this place as a home for it. A full-size proper slate table with balls and cues and all the gubbins, it must be worth a packet. It was a bequest to Autumn House but there’s no room for it there and they can’t sell it.